Gemotions

"He's *gone*?" Amelia stammered, her voice barely a whisper. Her voice coach, Mr. Silas Blackwood, the man who had coaxed her soprano voice from the depths, had simply vanished. No phone call, no message, nothing. The grand concert hall, where they'd rehearsed for months, now felt cavernous and cold.

She replayed their final lesson in her mind, searching for clues, for hints of his impending departure. She remembered the way his eyes would light up when she hit a particularly high note, the gentle pressure of his hand on her shoulder when she was struggling. Now, all she could recall were the details – the way he’d always adjust his bow tie, the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to his tweed jacket.

Panic tightened her throat. She found herself checking her phone every few minutes, desperately hoping for a text, a missed call. She practiced her scales, but the notes felt hollow, lacking the resonant depth Silas had taught her to find. The silence in the hall was deafening, a constant reminder of his absence.